Blaze
by Aladailey
Summary: He was frozen, but the fire wasn't put out. [oneshot, hslo]


I thought of this while looking at a picture from this scene in ESB. (Yes, I do that when I'm bored - sue me.) So -my muse being the darling that it is -gave me the inspiration of --- one word.

So I built off that word. And voila. Kudos (not the candy, although that's an excellent treat, too) and a Han Solo sweatshirt to those who can figure out what word it is. :)

Seeing as my DoaS muse has been buried under an almost literal Mount Everest of homework I recieved Halloween Week, I'm trying to dig it out with this. :)

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**Blaze**

It was sweltering.

Too hot, he can feel himself start to sweat; he was acutely aware of the binders cutting into his wrists.

But he walked, walked like nothing was wrong, ascending a hard, emotionless metal staircase. Looking to his left, it was glowing; glowing orange, like fire. To his right, it was a deep, midnight blue.

He winced a little as he turned, and descended onto the round platform. A quick assessment told him that there was no hope in escape, this time; no famous Solo luck that will get him outta _this_ mess. The platform had a perimeter of stormtroopers, and little Ugnaughts that looked as if evolution skipped them over were working furiously on a control panel and within a round pit in the middle of the platform.

They stopped. He leaned forward, a look of silent and deadly hatred and rage on his face; not a glare, his face was blank - but the tightness of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes gave it all away. It was a scorching look, a look that could burn straight through another's eyes.

"What's goin' on... buddy?" he asked lowly. Lando did not turn - he wasn't going to get seared by the look in his eyes. But he answered, in the same tone, muttering from the corner of his mouth.

"You're being put into carbon freeze."

There was no more discourse between them - Han stepped back, knowing full well what this meant. Carbon freeze. Frozen within metal. Great.

He watched as Boba - that damned man - approached Vader, but his eyes were drawn to the woman - _girl_ - to his right. His hazel eyes stared deep into hers, her own eyes, the color of cinnamon (although he's watched them give looks not nearly as sweet as their color implied).

"The Empire will compensate you if he dies," he barely heard the Dark Lord say - and he barely cared. He knew she heard it, but she gave no sign. They were caught up in eachother's eyes, taking in a last look until -

Until what? Could this be the end?

(Most likely.)

An overwhelming feeling of dread washed over him, a cold that temporarily belied the heat the room radiated - he covered it, by giving the slightest of smiles to her, with an added hint of arrogance - just for old times' sake.

"Put him in."

He was expecting for metaled fingertips to close around his bound arms, and they were about to - with a howl, Chewbacca pushed two stormtroopers off the edge. He felt a rushing sense of gratitude, of unpaid loyalty to the Wookiee - but now was not the time.

He turned, walking to his friend, ignoring Threepio's blabber.

"Stop, Chewie! Stop - stop!" he yelled at him. Chewie bent to his height, baring his fangs and throwing his arms up in rage and growling to no mercy. Han didn't back away. He wasn't afraid of his friend.

"Hey!" he yelled; Chewie started to calm down. "Hey! Listen'a me, Chewie - Chewie, this won't help me."

Chewie howled a reprove, distractedly, having binders forced around his wrists.

"Save your strength. There'll be another time." _And he won't be there._ _He won't be there - not with Chewie, not with Luke, not Leia - _"The princess - " he started, and Chewie growled an acknowledgement. "You have to take care of her." He spoke slowly and steadily, trying to hide the fact that he was upset that it was _Chewie_ and not _him_ that was going to take of the princess.

Leia had made her way up to Chewie, slowly, deliberately, latching her arms around Chewie's.

"D'you hear me? Huh?" he asked seriously. Chewie reluctantly said an affirmative.

His head turned downwards to look at Leia.

Half of her face was glowing red, the other half was shrouded in dark. Her face was blank, but her eyes gave it all away; her fears, her insecurites, the fire in her eyes burned slowly, the fire within his smouldering and growing in heat as they held eachother's gaze.

His head bent, hers simulataneously shooting up.

The fire in their kiss.

A longing, an intensity, the burning flames as their lips met -

It was quenched. Stormtroopers latched their fingers around each of his arms, and his neck stretched as he was pulled back, trying to catch every moment of heat, every second of spark and blaze.

Blindly, staring at her, he was forced to the middle of the platform. Their kiss had been broken, but the anguished fervor in her deep eyes was burning more brightly than ever.

"I love you."

The sureness with which she said it - it was not needed. He knew - he knew with the looks they shared, the kisses they shared, their passion.

Could he say it back?

Could he give her that torment, a dead man's love?

Could he gather up the courage?

No. He couldn't.

All of his bravery was used up - he was using it all to keep his face on the calm.

"I know," he answered with the same sureness, the same quickness.

Ugnaughts crowded around his front, releasing his wrists from the binders - he stared blankly at his hands, Chewie howling with his own anguish in the background.

Slowly, he felt himself moving down - or was the ground moving up? He couldn't tell. All he could tell was that Leia was still there, looking at him with earnest agony.

Just before he was lowered out of sight, he gave her a last smile - something so weak even he didn't believe the intended courage within.

All of the sudden, he was surrounded by cold; his head shot up, a last act of fruitless defiance.

And amidst all the fire, Han Solo was frozen.

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